


Grappling for Broken Pieces in the Dark

by justlikepagliaccis



Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But he's trying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, because rog deserves it, david is garbage at communication, it might be ooc but change my mind, sensitive!rog, the usual emotions that steal our breath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikepagliaccis/pseuds/justlikepagliaccis
Summary: After one of their biggest fights yet, Roger and David deal with the sticky emotions left behind. Very badly, mind you, because they're repressed British men of the 60s and 70s.
Relationships: David Gilmour/Roger Waters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Grappling for Broken Pieces in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I got such kind comments on my last work, so I couldn't resist the temptation to post another! This has been a WIP in my drafts for about forever and it's been edited a million times at the very least, so please be kind. I love writing these two, their chemistry is just so much fun to portray.   
> Enjoy!  
> \- adeleine

The tension in the room was thick, threatening to swallow them whole. David was bowed over his guitar, hair tumbling over his face as he plucked out the same melody again and again. Each time his fingers slipped or he hit a wrong note, he gritted his teeth, as Roger’s remarks were sure to come. Every run through had been wrong. Every attempt had gone horribly. 

Not right. Not quite. Can’t you just get it right already so we can go home?

David didn’t think he was the greatest guitarist, but he thought he was at least mediocre. That was before he met Roger. 

In Roger’s eyes, David was someone to take Syd’s place. Expansive shoes to fill, especially considering that David’s playing differed drastically from Syd’s. David had such high hopes when he joined the band, and now look what he had become. 

Rick and Nick had been kind to him. They obviously felt guilty about Roger’s frequent bashing and went out of their way to invite David out for tea and compliment him on a good riff or two. Rick couldn’t stand to be around when Roger was yelling, so he typically left before things got terribly ugly. Nick stuck around if only for the sole purpose of mediating – or the pleasure of watching the action go down – but at least Nick took his side. 

Even Nick had left the studio during this session, leaving David to drown in Roger’s acidic remarks, trying desperately again and again to please a seemingly insatiable man. Being pressured made his playing worse, and David found himself slipping up on easy notes, hands gone sweaty and anxious. 

Roger was unaware of this and continued his nitpicking in earnest, plucking adjectives out of thin air with his nimble fingers that David had the audacity to admire when they had first met. Oh, how he’d shyly taken peeks at them, thinking them to be perfect bassist fingers. Strong, callused, and powerful. 

Now those hands had turned into claws; weapons of cruelty, beating David down with every turn. 

Another foul note. “Christ, Dave, I thought you were good at this. You’re getting worse.” Roger studied him with those blue-green eyes, nearly reptilian in this light. 

He isn’t evil, David repeated like a mantra inside his head. He’s just an angry little boy. 

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bloody tyrant about everything, I’d play a bit better,” David said through his teeth, struggling to regain his composure. 

He didn’t know what he wanted to do first: punch Roger in the teeth or break down and cry like a baby. David settled for as calm and cool of a composure that he could get. He knew his fingers were trembling upon the fretboard of the guitar. David was squeezing the strings so tight his skin had gone white. 

“I have nothing to do with how well you play. You’re shitty without me around!” Roger snapped, folding his arms across his chest, daring David to reply. 

This was such a foreign being from what David had imagined Roger to be when he first met him. Sure, Roger was standoffish and chilly, but he was sweet. Somewhere deep down. Somewhere far enough to dig. David was a fool to think that Roger would act any different to him because of a silly infatuation that he didn’t even know about. He had thought David played well – Roger had said so himself, in that calculating, guarded way of his. As if he didn’t truly believe it for himself. 

“I could say the same of you,” David huffed, rising to his feet and tossing his guitar aside. He couldn’t bear to be in the studio any longer. It was suffocating. It was too much. Roger was too much. 

Roger slid in front of him, stopping David from making a hasty escape out the exit doors like their bandmates had. “Where do you think you’re going?” Roger ordered. “We have to get this right!” 

David had quite enough of Roger. With all of his might, David shoved him out of the way. Surprisingly, Roger allowed himself to be moved, slipping backwards like a house of cards. It was as if he did it unconsciously. There was a dazed look on Roger’s face when he righted himself, quickly masked with anger. But it was too late, David had already seen through the act. 

“Roger, I’m going home. If you detest my playing so much, find another guitarist to berate.” David was too exhausted to unpack any of what he just saw. In fact, he didn’t care after how badly Roger had treated him. He went to push through the doors when a hand shot out to grab onto his wrist. “Roger what the –” 

David instinctively yanked away, expecting some impending blow or violence. Roger was still steaming, but almost in a desperate way. He was a child acting out for attention. David’s attention. 

He sighed, “You’re being childish, Rog.” 

Roger had a wiry strength to him, but he was small in comparison to David. It was easy to crowd him up against the nearest wall. David pinned his shoulders so that he wouldn’t wriggle away. Roger had fought him halfheartedly; it was obvious that his strength had been dialed back purposefully. 

“You think this is a little game, now do you? Winding me up. And for what?” David growled, pressing their bodies close. Roger’s arousal dug into David’s thigh through his tight jeans. 

“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the one acting like – like…” Roger’s sudden loss for words struck David as both satisfying and endearing. He’d finally found a way to shut him up. 

“Like what?” David said. They were millimeters apart, their noses brushing. He could make out each individual freckle across Roger’s cheeks. He was blushing a healthy pink, pupils dilated and irises gone a dark green. “You were all talk before. What happened?” 

Roger wriggled weakly in David’s hold, jerking forwards only to be gently corrected. “Shut up,” he managed, avoiding David entirely. 

Roger wouldn’t look at him. His bangs had fallen over his face, disguising the emotions that were displayed there. David tenderly brushed them away, tracing the arch of his cheekbone until he reached the pucker of Roger’s lips. At this sudden intimacy, Roger grew bashful, eyes fluttering shut as he granted David permission to explore. He was mute and shaking and oh, another side of Roger that David hadn’t seen. 

David pulled his finger away, dipping even closer to meet their lips in a fiery press. It was all teeth and tongue and the barely muffled moans that they let slip. Their shared noises echoed throughout the room, returning back to them multiplied three times over. Like a multitude of orgies combining to create a symphony of sound. 

“Dave,” Roger murmured between scorching kisses. He was clutching at David’s shirt, threatening to tear it off with the tightness of his grip. “David.” 

He was grinding desperately against David’s thigh, trying to act subtle but failing. David smiled, hands sliding down to halt Roger’s movement. It wouldn’t do to fuck in the studio where they would get caught. The last thing they needed was some poor engineer walking in on them like this. David was sure Roger wouldn’t speak to him for months if that happened. 

“Rog, we can’t do this.” David struggled to still Roger entirely, as he was stubborn even in his current submissive state. “Stop.” 

It took Roger some seconds relent, scowling as he was forced off of David. But soon the scowl was replaced with straight-faced shock. David smiled at him, trying to break through that façade that Roger was hurriedly building back up. He could see the anger begin to bubble beneath the surface of Roger’s expression. There was some attack coming; Roger was going on the defensive. 

“You mean I can’t do this. Who do you take me for? Some kind of – kind of queer?” Roger shouted, stepping backward a few feet. 

David wanted to say something, to interrupt Roger’s tirade before it got worse, but Roger wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise. 

“You’re lucky we need a guitarist! I have half a mind to turn you in!” Roger had gotten himself so worked up that he barely noticed he was backing up into a drum riser. He nearly toppled over, catching himself on the high hat and stumbling into a rack of guitars. 

Roger had gone awfully red. Redder than he had been before and twice as loud. 

David shook his head at Roger’s antics, “Roger –” 

“Shut up! You don’t think I can kick you out right now?!” Roger was inching his way to another exit door, feeling behind him for the latch. His voice had gone unnaturally high. 

“Actually –” David was cut off by the resounding slam of the door and the rapid footsteps of Roger fleeing the building. “Christ.” 

He ran a hand across his face, heaving a sigh. Leave it to Roger to make things more difficult than they had to be. David was in no mood to chase Roger down, so he headed in his own direction. After a long night’s sleep and more than a little beer to tide him over, David would find Roger and make things right. He would have to come around at some point, and David would be there when he did. 

The next few weeks passed and David didn’t see hide nor hair of Roger. He didn’t show up at practice and he wouldn’t respond to any of their phone calls. Not only was practice unproductive without their songwriter, they were lost without a key guiding force. Oftentimes, Roger would take the lead and direct the band where he saw fit that they should go. Maybe it was controlling, but it certainly kept them on track. 

Now, the three of them sat together and noodled on their respective instruments, creating tunes with no name and unsure compositions about dogs or swimming pools. The studio was too quiet and, though the past few months had been unbearable with fighting, the silence was deafening. 

Nick had been the first to call, as he was the go-between for all the members. Roger very rarely had any issues with Nick and considered him a friend at best. But as David watched Nick come back with a downtrodden expression, he knew that coaxing Roger out of his home would be harder than he initially thought. 

Next, Rick called. He was always polite and kind, David hoped that Rick of all people could reach Roger. But nothing. Rick returned with a sad smile, offering optimistic encouragement. Roger could be sick. Or his phone could be temporarily out of order. David didn’t believe a word of it. 

If Roger wouldn’t come out on his own, David would have to help him along. 

On the fifth practice day without any sign of Roger, David set his Strat aside. “I’m going to find him myself.” 

Two pairs of eyes landed on him at once. “Are you sure? Last time Roger was here he didn’t… well, he wasn’t very happy with you,” Rick said, ever so careful to prevent rocking the boat. 

“Would you rather go?” David asked, folding his arms. “I know why he’s acting like this.” 

“Meaning you set him off,” Nick chuckled. “Fine, fine, you go. Let us know if His Majesty will be returning or not.”

David agreed, exchanging short goodbyes with his bandmates before heading out. He promised to bring Roger back in one piece, but he had a feeling that by the time David found him, Roger would be shattered all over the floor. It wasn’t easy for Roger to put himself in such a state of vulnerability. David had thought that Roger was overstimulated and needed space. That he would come around in time. 

Apparently, he was wrong. 

Pulling up at Roger’s modest little flat, David took note of the drawn shades in the windows, figuring this innocuous bit of privacy was a little more than it seemed. It was more protection. And no matter how soft David’s footfalls were, the silhouette darting by the window revealed that he had been spotted.

“Damn,” David muttered, clomping up the stoop to knock on the door anyway. There was a slim chance of Roger actually answering, yet David waited anyway. He waited for ten minutes, then knocked again. And when another ten minutes passed, David kept knocking. 

“Rog, I know you’re there. Open up.”

A heavy silence followed. David knew that Roger was home. His car was in the drive and he was sure that he saw movement behind the curtains. Another bad plan. Why would Roger open the door to him after what had happened between them? It could be that Roger was having second thoughts after all? But David had seen the way Roger looked at him. There was no mistaking the emotion he saw pooling in Roger’s eyes. 

David just had to try a different tactic. 

“I’ll talk through the door. I know you can hear me,” David threatened, peering over his shoulder to see if anyone was around. Though he wouldn’t hesitate to go through with it, he really didn’t want to be heard and spotted. No one was around and the neighborhood was largely empty save for the distant cries of birds. 

“It was a misunderstanding. Don’t you know how I feel about you? You don’t think I wanna fuck –”

The front door swung open, cutting David off mid-sentence. Roger stood in the doorway fuming, clad in all black like a vision from a different time. He yanked David inside by his shirt sleeve and slammed the door behind him. 

“What are you bloody thinking?! Do you want us both to get sent to prison?!” Roger hissed; his cheeks topped with a rising red blush.

“You didn’t answer,” David replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Ah, and I got you to come out!”

David grinned, satisfied that he was successful. Roger looked like he was torn between punching the smile right off his face or kissing it. 

“What are you doing here?” Roger didn’t make it sound like much of a question. He was already in the process of closing himself off, avoiding David’s eyes entirely. 

“We missed you at the studio,” David said. “I missed you.” 

Roger scoffed. “They didn’t miss Hitler.”

“You aren’t Hitler!” David wanted to reach out and touch Roger again, smooth the worry lines that were creasing in his forehead. “You just have a particular way of dealing with things that, on first glance, look Hitler-esque.” 

“Yeah,” Roger relented. “Like acting like a complete prick.” 

“Maybe so. But I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Roger eyed him like he’d just sprouted two heads overnight. For a brief second, David feared that he had because Roger’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head. Did he say the wrong thing again? Roger wasn’t kicking him out yet, but he could still be in shock, processing David’s words. 

David went to correct himself, to clarify that what he said wasn’t a bad thing, but Roger was already leaning to kiss him. Their lips connected in a rough, uncoordinated press. David felt his teeth knock with Roger’s own and their noses bump as they searched for the right angle. 

Even when they pulled away for breath, David wouldn’t let Roger escape far. He snuck an arm around Roger’s waist and drew him back in for more lengthy kisses. If David hadn’t been holding onto Roger so tightly, he would have sunk straight to the floor. The thought made him eager, happy to be wanted so deeply. 

Finally, when they had to take a permanent breather on Roger’s settee, David patted the long-fingered hand covering his knee. “Why did you disappear for so long, Rog?”

Roger suddenly became very fascinated on the state of the floor, his hand quickly retreating back to his own lap in the blink of an eye. David regretted even asking the question, as it left him bereft of Roger’s touch. 

But Roger merely shook his head, tight-lipped and silent. 

“I want to be able to fix it,” David tried. “If it was me.”

“It’s been fixed.” Roger waved a hand dismissively. “Why do you want to fix things all of the sudden?”

“You.” 

“You want to fix me?” 

“No, no,” David rushed to assure, fumbling for the correct words. He never was good at expressing himself this way. “Help you. Heal you. So you don’t keep running off and hiding when something hurts you.”

“Nothing hurt me,” Roger huffed, unable to disguise the flickering emotion revealed in his eyes. He turned slightly so the light filtering through the windows camouflaged it. 

“Sure, Rog.” David scooted closer, pressing their legs together and seeking out Roger’s hand once again. “Admit it. You didn’t want to come back because you didn’t want to face me.” 

Roger had nothing to say about that. He folded in on himself which was rather surprising. David expected him to fight tooth and nail to defend himself. Roger just looked exhausted. Worn thin. If he wanted to, David could dismantle him like a children’s plaything and scatter his parts across the sitting room.

Unsure of what to say to make things better, David reached out to touch Roger’s tense shoulder. “Do you mind if I kiss you again? I rather enjoyed it.” 

Roger made a show of reluctantly offering himself up, but David saw through his act pretty quickly. He grabbed Roger by the scruff of his neck, locking their lips together again. He responded well to this sort of treatment, melting against David like butter. Somewhere along the line, he found his way on top of David’s lap. Perched high on David’s knees, Roger was able to bend easily for better access. 

David enjoyed being able to hold onto Roger’s hips and trace lines up and down his sides. Their fight seemed like it was lightyears away and all David was worried about was the next press of Roger’s lips upon his own and the feeling of his long legs dangling on either side of his own. With each nip of teeth or swirl of tongue, David would draw out the little submissive noises he’d missed hearing so much. 

Before long, Roger was putty in his hands, brain offline completely and green eyes greener than David had ever seen. 

“There now,” David said, out of breath. “Is that enough to convince you that I care about you?”

Roger hummed, lifting trembling fingers to card through his hair. “Not quite enough, I don’t think.”

By the end of the night, David made sure he gave Roger enough reminders to last him a lifetime – or even longer. Though there would always be a heated fight or two in the studio or over tea, David discovered a new method of handling them. So long as Roger wanted him around, David would be there to pick up the pieces and mend him anew. 

FIN.


End file.
